


Eight Days between Christmas and New Years

by Dreaming_in_Circles



Category: Leverage
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Dancing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Relationship Negotiation, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22118479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_in_Circles/pseuds/Dreaming_in_Circles
Summary: It's the time in-between things that makes the biggest impact.An 8 + 1 fic about the moments in between a con that define the relationships between the team members. Eliot/Parker/Hardison-centric.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker, Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford
Comments: 11
Kudos: 133
Collections: 2019 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





	Eight Days between Christmas and New Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BurningTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/gifts).



> I believe I hit most of your requests, in some form or another. When I first got your prompts, I was as delighted as I was stumped, but this fic has been lovely to write. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Happy Holidays!

**1\. December 24 - Late morning**

Eliot woke up to the feeling of skin on skin. His hands curled around a warm body, comfortable, soft, at ease. He felt relaxed, sleepy and content. He hummed and rubbed his nose gently against the back of his partner’s neck, her hair tickling his face. His brain sleepily cast about for a name, still not quite awake or oriented, and then he remembered. Parker.  _ Hardison _ . The three of them.  _ Together _ .

He couldn’t stop the tremor that went through is body. Bad habits, and all that. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough that Parker noticed, jerking awake with an inelegant snort. 

“Hardison?” she mumbled, reaching forward for the man in front of her. Hardison mumbled unintelligibly and reached back, wrapping his long arms around Parker. Parker hummed and settled, reaching around to grab Eliot’s hand in return, interlacing their fingers. Eliot waited until they were both sound asleep again before making his exit. He dressed hurriedly in his clothes as he found them, neglecting his socks when he could only find one. He stumbled out into the main room silently, barefoot and bedraggled. Nate and Sophie weren’t up, yet, so he wondered into the kitchen and started pulling out the ingredients for omelettes for the five of them. He cooked when he needed to think.

They’d done it once or twice, the three of them. That was a lie; they’d done it four times now. Once or twice was an outlier; four times was a pattern. Not a bad pattern, necessarily, but… Well. It was an uncertain, new thing. He wasn’t used to it, the domesticity, the consistency; working with the same people for - not days, not even weeks - but years. It was nice, to be sure; he was getting used to it. Maybe too used to it?

Nate’s bedroom door opened down the hall and Eliot heard Sophie’s heels and Nate’s off-brand shoes thump down the hall. Eliot snorted in amusement; Nate had more money at his disposal than some small nations and he still didn’t buy the real stuff.

“Mornin’,” Eliot said as he dumped the green peppers into the frying pan. Nate looked out of sorts, the last remaining vestiges of his Catholic upbringing making even honest, long-term arrangements like theirs uncomfortable for him. Sophie looked perfectly at ease, swooping by to steal a bite with perfect makeup and smacked a kiss on his cheek as she passed behind him. As she was walking, she paused and hummed excitedly. 

“Oh, I know that smell,” she purred, and Eliot looked up to see her eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“Get outta my kitchen,” Eliot groused, hip-checking her gently out from behind the counter. She giggled happily and joined Nate where he was waiting by the door.

“You got a client?” Eliot asked, watching them as he poured the egg into the frying pan.

“Yeah,” Nate huffed. “We’ll be back in an hour.” He pointed vaguely toward Hardison and Parker’s room. “Wake them up for me.”

“I’m not your butler,” Eliot protested, swishing the egg around the pan, but Sophie was already out the door, Nate halfway behind her when he paused and stuck his head back in the door. “Oh, and Eliot?”

“Huh?”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Do you think Eliot’s embarrassed?” Parker asked, rolling on top of Hardison and spreading out. Hardison grunted in protest, but she ignored him. She’d become increasingly snuggly, the closer they got, but Hardison loved it. Loved her, every inch, every second he got with her. Even when she asked difficult questions.

“No, babe, I don’t think he’s embarrassed.”

“Then what?”

Hardison shrugged without opening his eyes. He was paying attention, and he knew she knew it. He was also half asleep.

“Eliot gets embarrassed sometimes,” Parker continued, squirming until she was comfortable. Hardison squirmed, too, until they were chest to chest, and he wrapped his arms loosely around her waist and opened his eyes. 

“I think he might be scared,” Hardison said. Parker frowned at him.

“Eliot’s not scared of stuff. Not like that.”

Hardison shrugged. “Everybody’s scared of something.”

“I don’t want him to be scared.”

“It’s alright, babe,” Hardison promised, squeezing her gently. “He’ll be alright. He just needs time.”

“Like me.”

“Like you, like Nate, like Sophie. Everybody needs time, uh, sometimes.”

Parker huffed. “If you say so,” she grumbled, then perked up. “He’s cooking!” she squealed delightedly. In a rush, she shoved herself off Hardison, accidentally planting her hand in his stomach as she rushed for the door, shoving on clothes as she went.

“Parker!” he yelled, curling in on himself as his stomach protested. But she’d already burst through the door.

“Okay!” Nate yelled animatedly, swooping back into the apartment, Sophie right on his tail. He checked his watch as he walked to the front of the couch. Parker vaulted over the back to drop down onto the bouncy stuffing next to Hardison, not exactly snuggling in, but comfortably next to him. Eliot wandered over to stand behind while Sophie dropped smoothly onto the couch. 

“The Washingtons need this money by the beginning of the new year. Now today is Christmas Eve, which means we have eight days until January 1st. That gives us eight days to swindle Andrew Harry and get the money to the bank with the Washingtons in order to prevent the foreclosure. Hardison,” he seemed to interrupt himself, swinging a hand behind him to point at the screens. “Run it.”

Hardison vaulted himself off the couch, leaving Parker sprawled over empty space behind, and Nate sat down next to Sophie. Hardison materialized the clicker from seemingly nowhere and waved it at the screen. A picture of Andrew Harry’s admittedly handsome face popped up, grinning at them charmingly. Eliot could understand how he’d conned so many people, with a face like that.

“Andrew Harry,” Hardison started. Eliot shifted his grip on his coffee mug, swung his leg over the back of the couch, and sat down in a balanced huff a space away from Parker. She side-eyed him casually, then reached over and stole his coffee. He let her take it and take a sip, and accepted it back when she handed it over. He tried to look unfazed, but he was pretty sure Sophie could tell something was up. Nate was ignoring them - probably intentionally - and Hardison was on a roll talking about Harry’s finances. Eliot ignored Parker’s continued side-eye and focused on the TV screen.

**2\. December 26 - Early evening**

“Well, that was positively delightful!” Sophie gushed. Parker watched her positively flounce into the apartment, grinning from ear to ear.

“We just sat there in a circle. Talking,” Parker said, following her in and swinging the door closed behind them.

“Yes!” Sophie agreed. “And what a wonderful cast of characters we made. The college student -” she gestured at Parker, “- the teacher -” she gestured to herself - “the stay-at-home mother looking for more, the starving artist hoping to make it big, and -”

“The mark,” Parker agreed. She knew that one.

“The  _ hobbyist _ ,” Sophie corrected. “He wants to write a bestseller so  _ desperately _ , it’s almost cute. If he weren’t an absolutely corrupt government beaurocrat, I’d almost want to help him for real.” Sophie swept into the kitchen, carried by her good mood, and swept up a piece of fruit Eliot had left lying around. “It’s all great practice, you know, for my theatre troupe. If I write a play. Something like that.” She turned suddenly to look at Parker. “You seemed like you were enjoying yourself a bit, too, Parker, hm?”

Parker shrugged and slouched over to the bar leaning on it. “It was fine,” she mumbled. 

“It’s alright to enjoy it, Parker. It’s part of the fun of the con. Like you and your thieving, after all.”

“I know.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Sophie asked immediately. Parker knew she should appreciate the question - the same way she liked it when Hardison talked to her like that, but it made her feel more squirrely. Sophie, of course, noticed immediately. “Nevermind, don’t feel like you have to tell me. I know Hardison knows you best.” She leaned over the bar to grin at Parker. “Except maybe for Eliot.”

Parker frowned. “What about Eliot?”

“Oh, nothing.” Sophie stood back up straight. “What do you think you’ll write about for tomorrow? I’m thinking about a modern adaptation of Mark Anthony and Cleopatra. A great romance, a tragic love, doomed to failure -” 

“Robin Hood,” Parker announced. Sophie smiled even larger.

“What about it?” Nate asked, storming back into the room, Hardison and Eliot in tow.

“That’s what we’re going to write about for tomorrow!” Sophie announced excitedly. 

“It’s perfect,” Hardison beamed. 

“Yeah, but are you sure it’s not, ah,” Nate waved his hand around, casting for the right word. Parker had seen him do it a hundred times. 

“Am I sure it’s not what?” Sophie objected.

“You know,” Nate waved around more. “A bit on the nose?”

“Oh is it?”

Hardison set the box in his arms down and joined Parker where she was still leaning on the bar, watching Nate and Sophie squabble. It was a familiar pattern, the bickering, but somewhere it had turned friendly. All bark, no bite. It was comfortable.

**3\. December 27 - Early morning**

“You sure you got time for this, before your writing circle or whatever?” Eliot asked, yanking the shoes on.

“Eliot! Not so hard, you’ll break them! Dancing shoes are very finely made; they need a light touch.” Sophie, shoes already in place, rushed over and smacked the back of Eliot’s hand good-naturedly. Eliot rolled his eyes, but slowed down, laced the shoes gently, correctly. 

“Okay. Now, stand up and hold your hands up.” She stepped back and gestured for him to follow her. Eliot sighed and stood up, spreading his arms out.

“I know how to dance, Sophie.”

“But do you know how to waltz?” Sophie asked, grabbing his hands and arranging them with his left on her back and his right in her hand. “Now you’re leading, so take the first step. Always lead with your right, and your partner will follow where you go.”

“Yeah, I got that part, Sophie.”

“If you’re such an expert, don’t you dare step on my foot,” Sophie warned, looking him squarely in the eye. Hardison looked down at his feet, carefully placed adjacent to Sophie’s. He adjusted his shoulders and paid attention to how her body was next to his, how much space was between them, how stood lightly on the balls of her feet and only barely touched his shoulder and hand, light as a feather.

“I ain’t gonna step on your toes, Soph,” Eliot promised, looking back up. Sophie smirked.

"Then with me. And - one two three, one two three, one two three…” Sophie’s count trailed off into mumbling as Eliot started moving his feet. His right, then his left, then his right; if he didn’t step just right he would knock into Sophie’s knees, which wasn’t as bad as stepping on her toes, but probably not considered polite, anyway. “And back; there you go…” Sophie encouraged, gently pushing him to step back, and they made a rudimentary square in front of the couch. The waltz music droned on softly from Hardison’s special speakers.

“I thought I was leadin’,” Eliot muttered in protest as Sophie subtly pulled and tugged him around the room.

“You will this evening,” Sophie promised. “Just do what I’m doing, and Caroline won’t know the difference.”

“Too bad you can’t just dance with her,” Eliot groused. He was an okay grifter, good at picking up women, liked cleaning up nice for a fancy party, but Sophie was way more into this whole gala thing that he was. Amature authors, expensive corprorate galas; the con was a fucking weird one.

“Oh believe me, I would, but I don’t think I’m really Caroline’s type,” Sophie sighed dramatically. Eliot’s jaw clenched despite himself and he focused on leading Sophie in another square around the room instead of staring at her.

“What, did you expect me to laugh at you?” Sophie asked, ever perceptive. “It’s the twenty-first century, Eliot, people aren’t quite so medieval anymore.”

“Depends on who you’re talkin’ to,” Eliot muttered. He needed some distance, so he pushed Sophie out in a gentle, slow spin. She executed it gracefully, twirling on one foot like a music box ballerina before reeling herself back in.

“True. But you’re talking to me. Here.” She slid her back onto Eliot’s shoulder. The waltz ended and the speakers automatically rolled over to the next one. Eliot took Sophie in another, slightly tighter square. 

“Now that you’ve got the basics down, let’s try some more advanced moves,” Sophie continued smoothly, letting go of Eliot’s hand. “Let me lead while I show you, and then we’ll switch.”

**4\. December 28 - Mid-afternoon**

“Man, what is so important that you had to drag me all the way out here in the middle of the con - where  _ are _ we, anyway, it took my GPS three tries to find this place -” Hardison stopped talking as he rounded the corner of the old barn. The snow was halfway up his shins and leaking into his boots, but that was far less important than the  _ friggin’ reindeer _ in front of him. “Eliot, man, what the  _ hell _ is  _ that _ .”

Eliot turned and looked at Hardison over his shoulder, face stony and blank, but he was almost always like that, it didn’t mean anything. He faced forward again to look at the  _ reindeer _ kicking around in the pen. Hardison marched up to the fence and stopped, huffing.

“Man, why is there a reindeer in the middle of Oregan?”

“I got it for Parker,” Eliot said, staring at it. 

“I’m sorry; you did  _ what? _ ”

Now Eliot slightly embarrassed, grimacing as he tried to explain himself. “She said she wanted one, you know? So I just...got one.”

“You know she’s afraid of horses, right?” Hardison reminded him. Eliot never really forgot stuff like that, but he’d also never bought a reindeer before.

“Look, man, she just said she wanted one, and I knew a guy, ya know?” Eliot shrugged. 

“I’ll be honest, man, I’m not sure what Parker’s gonna think about it.”

Eliot was almost grimacing again. “Probably shouldn’t a’ gotten it, huh?”

Hardison shrugged. Then he realized, “Do you even know how to take care of this thing?”

“I know how to take care of animals, Hardison.”

“Ma-uh-it’s a reindeer, Eliot. A  _ reindeer _ . Look at the size of those antlers; the thing’s probably  _ carnivorous _ -”

“Damnit Hardison! It’s not carnivorous!”

  
  


**5\. December 29 - Evening**

Parker walked into Hardison’s room, skipping the floorboards she knew creaked out of habit. Hardison had put a mirror up on the top of his monitor, and she saw him notice her in it when she was halfway across the room. She saw his eyes crinkle in the mirror as he smiled at her, and she felt her expression soften in return. She dashed the last few steps across the room and draped herself over his shoulders. He was playing one of his video games, something about solving puzzles and thwarting an evil robot. The puzzles had always seemed nonsensical to her, the kind she couldn’t figure out and it was frustrating, but Hardison said it was just because she didn’t know the rules of the game.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked. He used the controller to pick up a cube on the screen and Parker watched him as he moved it across the room and drop it somewhere else. He was a good multi-tasker, almost always had to be doing two or more things, but she knew he was giving her his full attention.

She didn’t have words for the feelings in her chest, so she just wrapped her arms tighter around him. He usually understood what that meant, that she had a lot of feelings about him and wanted him to know it and needed to be as physically close to him as she was, you know, internally...close...or whatever.

Hardison paused the game and put the controller down, gently held her hands in his and craned his neck up so he could kiss her chin, her nose, her cheek. He rubbed her arms and it made her feel relaxed and soft and she smiled into his cheek. Then the feeling passed and she pulled away, and he let her. 

“Imma go find Eliot.”

“Isn’t he working?” Hardison asked, twisting in his chair to watch Parker turn and wander out of the room.

“Nate got back a few minutes ago. That means Eliot will be back, too, and cook something,” she said, spinning to grab the door handle as she walked by. “He’ll cook me something.”

“Hey, bring me back something, too!” Hardison yelled as she swung the door shut.

Eliot was indeed in the kitchen when Parker got there, shoes carefully taken off the left unlaced and ready on the mat in the corner, hair pulled back with a bandana tied around his head, sleeves rolled up and jacket hanging in the closet. He was the neatest person Parker knew, consistently. Putting things where they belonged was important to him.

“Watcha cooking?” she asked, jumping onto the bar stood opposite him. He was slicing meat into neat cubes with a look of extreme focus.

“Stir fry,” he said without looking up. 

“Can I have some?”

“Sure,” Eliot agreed gruffly. He finished slicing the meat and scraped it all off into a pan on the stove.

Parker watched him and her conversation with Hardison a few days previous came to mind, and Eliot being scared. She wasn’t sure she’d ever actually seen him get scared before; she considered him too practical for fear. Parker was different; she knew she was a bit of a mess, she was scared of lots of things. Less, now, with Hardison and Eliot and Nate and Sophie. They were reassuring and comfortable, and it never soured like seemingly-safe foster homes did. It felt good, maybe even permanent. 

She wanted to say something, any of it to Eliot. She wanted to say all the things Hardison had said to her when she’d been squirly and anxious about dating him, the things that made her feel calmer about him, and sure that he’d be okay. But she didn’t have the words like Hardison did.

“Thank you,” she said instead.

Eliot looked up from the food. “For what, Parker?”

She wiped her hand across the bar in a sweeping gesture. “For, you know. Everything. It’s nice. I like it.” She propped her chin on her hands and watched him. He frowned at her for a second, but she could see the instant he relaxed and she knew her words - not as many or as nice as Hardison’s - were the right ones anyway.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he said with a small, small smile, a little more of his southern accent creeping back into his voice than normal. 

The moment was nice, and it made Parker’s stomach warm, but she could feel the moment it turned, had carried on long enough, was becoming awkward, so she changed the subject. “How was Nate in the con?”

“He was good. It went fine,” Eliot said, scraping vegetables into the pan and picking it up and tossing the contents around one-handed. “He’s been good recently,” Eliot continued a little distractedly.

“Yeah,” Parker agreed.

“We’ve got a good thing goin’,” Eliot said, picking out spices and sauces and shaking seemingly arbitrary amounts into the pan. Parker watched him with fascination. He cooked like she picked safes. He just knew what he was doing; understood it in his bones.

“Yeah.”

**6\. December 30 - Early morning**

“I am sorry about this, Jim.” Hardison heard Eliot’s voice from down the jail hallway. ‘Jim’ was the name of the police chief, but why Eliot was on a first-name basis with the guy, Hardison didn’t know.

“That’s alright, Spencer. Near as we can tell, he didn’t do any harm, anyway,” the Chief responded easily. 

“I promise he’ll stay outta your way from now on,” Eliot continued. Hardison sat up on the jail cell bench and watched Eliot and the Chief walk into view. The Chief was in uniform and still had his coat on, cell keys in hand. Eliot was wearing street clothes, and using his real name, and didn’t seem to be running any kind of con at all.

“I got no concerns about releasing ‘im to you, Spencer,” the Chief insisted, waving a hand in Eliot’s general direction. “I know you’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Yessir,” Eliot agreed. The Chief turned to unlock the cell door and Eliot shot Hardison a look over the man’s back that clearly said ‘keep your mouth  _ shut _ .’

“You don’t have to ‘yessir’ me,  _ Commander _ ,” the Chief chuckled, smiling at Eliot as he got the door open. He looked at Hardison and jerked his head. “Your friend’s here to bail you out.”

“Sargent, I will ‘yessir’ you ‘til the day I die,” Eliot responded with a grin that was as much challenge as smile. The police Chief rolled his eyes.

“Well, just keep your friend here outta trouble and I’ll be happy. And you,” he said, jabbing Hardison in the chest with a bony finger. “No more sneaking around museums, closed or otherwise.”

“You got it, Chief,” Hardison said, and bit his tongue to keep from saying anything else. Eliot grabbed his arm and yanked him down the hallway in front of him. Hardison turned to see him shake the Chief’s hand and say a few more words Hardison didn’t catch before turning and catching up to Hardison, propelling him down the hallway.

“You didn’t tell us you knew the local police chief,” Hardison whined.

“Wouldn’t have mattered if you hadn’t been dumb enough to let that deputy catch you.”

“I-whoa-hey, that was  _ not _ my fault. How was I supposed to know someone would try to rob the jewelry store across the street the same night I was supposed to break into the museum?”

“You’re just lucky I convinced him you didn’t have anything to do with it,” Eliot said, flashing the secretary a bright, charming smile as they breezed past. She smiled back, in that love-struck way most people responded to Eliot, and Hardison rolled his eyes so hard he saw the back of his head.

**7\. December 31 - Afternoon**

Parker shoved her hand in the bowl of ice water and waited. The shock of the cold was minimal compared to the relief it was on her swollen knuckles. Eliot leaned against the bar next to her and wrapped a towel soaked with ice water around her wrist. She expected him to tell her off, her form when she’d hit the guy had been terrible after all, but he wrapped it in silence, compressing it slightly to get it to stay.

Hardison dropped down into the seat on Parker’s other side and put his hand on her shoulder. “You okay babe?”

“I’m fine, Hardison,” she said, digging her hand into the bowl of ice a little further.

“Leave it alone, Parker,” Eliot told her. “You don’t want to make it worse if it is broken.”

“It’s fine,” Parker insisted.

“Nate, Parker’s officially out of commission,” Eliot said into his earpiece. Parker had taken hers out when she got to the apartment, tossed it onto the bar just a little ways away from her.

“No I’m not!” she snapped at Eliot and lunged for her earpiece, but Hardison was closer and flicked it off the bar entirely. She scowled at him, and considered going after it anyway, but Eliot stooped down and pocketed it before she could move.

“You want me out in the field?” Eliot continued talking. He listened for a moment, nodded to himself, and touched his earpiece. “Nate’s gonna wrap up the play, then come back,” he said, looking at Parker and Hardison. 

“He can still get the money?” Hardison confirmed.

“Yeah. Parker poppin’ the guy wasn’t actually that bad, I guess,” Eliot said, not looking at Parker while he said it.

“He deserved it,” she muttered into the bowl of ice.

“He did,” Hardison agreed, squeezing her shoulder. 

Eliot didn’t say anything, but beckoned for her hand. “Lemme see. If it’s broken, we’re gonna have to take you to urgent care.”

“S’not broken,” Parker groused, but reached over the bar to let him poke and prod it anyway. It was kind of like a massage, stretching out the muscles as he tested them and the bones first in her hand, then in her wrist. There was pain, but not severe. The ice had helped a lot.

“Probably not, no,” Eliot agreed, letting go and running the towel under the sink again. “You should probably take it easy, though; let it heal up fine.” He wrapped the cold towel around her wrist again and Parker put her hand back in the ice. She pouted at his advice and pretended not to hear him, but they all knew he’d keep reminding her until she did.

**8\. January 1 - Mid-morning**

The bar is nearly empty so early on New Year’s Day. You would have thought it was closed if you hadn’t seen Mr. Ford sitting at one of the tables through the window. You push through the door and walk in, and Mr. Ford waves you over immediately. There’s no servers around to seat you, anyway; just some people you assume to be chiefs working behind the bar, a guy with long hair and a flannel shirt cooking something next to a guy in a t-shirt on a laptop, a distiller set up next to him. They both look up at you when the door’s bell rings, then back down as Mr. Ford beckons you over. Maybe Mr. Ford knows the owner.

You sit down nervously. You’ve got a death grip on your bag in your hands. Mr. Ford looks relaxed; he smiles at you, pushes a glass of water towards you. “Happy New Year,” he says.

“Happy New Year,” you say, trying to smile more than you grimace. It’s not that you don’t trust him, but everything is riding on him and that money. “Not to be rude, but-”

“Here,” he says, still smiling, and slides a plain white envelope over to you. “All $500,000 - and a little extra, to help you stay on your feet while you finish that job search. Sophie can give you some pointers, if you’d like. She’s really good at that sort of thing.” He points at the bar, and you notice two women - one of whom you know, she’d been with Mr. Ford Christmas Eve - had sat on the customer side, near the chiefs. They are nursing champagne, and Sophie toasts you when you look.

“I’ve got a few leads, but thank you,” you manage to say. You feel a little heady, like you can’t catch your breath. You open the envelope and see a bank check made to your name; you’ve never seen so much money before in your life. “I-” you feel a little like you’re going to cry out of joy and relief. “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Ford.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, then checked his watch. “Now, we’ve made arrangements for the bank manager to open special for you in about fifteen minutes; obviously we would have preferred to do this yesterday, but unfortunately we didn’t quite make it-”

“No, this is perfect,” you interrupt. Fifteen minutes is exactly enough time to make it to the bank if you leave now - Mr. Ford of course must have realized that. “I don’t know how you did it, but thank you. Thank you so much.” 

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Ford says again. You stand, shove the check into your purse, look at the four people at the bar, watching you.

“Thank you!” you blurt out, and you turn and run - not out of fear, but because you can’t  _ wait _ to see the look on that bank manager’s face. You feel so full of excitement that you’re body can’t hold it, like if you don’t run and yell you’ll explode. 

**+1 January 1 - Mid-morning**

Hardison watched the client leave running, grinning ear to ear, and her smile was infectious. He snuck a glance at Eliot, and even he was smiling down at the cutting board as he sliced peaches for the pie crust next to him.

“How’d she know it was us?” Parker asked in a stage whisper, leaning dramatically across the bar as she watches the client leave.

“Probably because we’re the only ones in the restaurant,” Eliot observed only partially sarcastically. “And you keep staring at her.”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was alright,” Parker protested. “That guy was a creep; I wanted to make sure she can really hit him back.”

“She’s not gonna hit him, Parker -” Eliot started, but Parker was already ignoring him and stole one of the peach halves he’d already put. “Hey, put that back, that’s for the pie.” Parker pouted and bit into it. Eliot’s face did that thing it did when he was frustrated, but not really. Hardison smirked.

“Oh, oh, Eliot!” Parker suddenly yelled, flapping her free hand. “Thank you for the Christmas present!”

Eliot foze. “What Christmas present?”

“The reindeer!” she yelled excitedly. “Will you teach me how to ride it? When does he start to fly?”

“Parker-”

“He’s perfect. I bet I could sit in his antlers if I got him to hold still long enough. We’ll have to get some bells to put on him - do the bells make him fly? Is that how it works?”

Hardison couldn’t keep a straight face anymore and started laughing into his computer screen. Eliot, of course, noticed, and the look on his face got ten times worse.

“Damnit Hardison!”


End file.
